Chapter 248: The "Outlier" of Night City, "Intern Security," City of Charity

March 17th, Sunday.

The Cyberpunk 2077 universe, Night City.

From a bird's-eye view, this metropolis filled with towering mega-structures and floating airships, gleaming with a shiny exterior, greeted another "unremarkable" day as usual.

In early March, Northern California in the main universe is usually drenched with rain, cold, and damp. However, in the Cyberpunk universe, due to severe environmental destruction, today's Night City was sunny, cloudless, and dry.

Around noon, the poor living in the lower levels, regardless of it being a weekend, still had to take public or private vehicles to their respective jobs. However, the low employment rate meant the city was teeming with homeless people and gang members constantly plotting how to kill and rob.

There were also freelance mercenaries living hand to mouth, or various middlemen and brokers.

The extreme wealth gap had pushed most people's mental states into two concerns: "Don't get killed today, and don't starve to death," while also scheming how to climb up to the upper echelons.

At this moment.

An airtrain was passing between buildings and streets, traveling from Santo Domingo to the northern district of Westbrook.

Inside the train;

A young male "high schooler," appearing around 16 or 17 years old, sat at the window seat. He wore a black jacket and jeans, and his lifeless eyes stared out at the cityscape.

This boy, who had a hairstyle resembling a slicked-back cut, had delicate features, but his expression revealed a fatigue that was hard to conceal.

Boom! Boom!

Suddenly, a series of explosions outside the window caught his attention.

Looking toward the sound.

He saw an intense firefight happening on the street below.

A group of NCPD officers, also "working stiffs," was attempting to surround a muscular man, shirtless and heavily armed.

However, the NCPD officers' weapons had no effect on the man.

Ting! Ting!

Bullets bounced off the man's skin, unable to penetrate it.

On the other hand, the man wielding a grenade launcher and an automatic shotgun tore the officers apart with ease. Despite having the numerical advantage, the NCPD officers were slaughtered like weaklings within moments.

Even the reinforcements arriving in their police cars were no match, as their vehicles were blown up one after another by the man's grenades and shotgun blasts.

However, after wiping out all the officers in sight, the man stood still, showing no intent to flee—

A cyberpsycho.

Recognizing the man's behavior, everyone on the train, including the high schooler, instantly realized he was a cyberpsycho—someone whose mind had been overtaken by cybernetic implants, turning him into a "mental patient."

Ordinary officers were like cannon fodder, and their weapons and cyberware couldn't compete with such individuals.

Soon, an NCPD riot airship arrived, bearing the words "MAX-TAC" (Maximum Force Tactical Division) on both sides. It hovered above the street, now littered with debris.

The doors of the airship slid open, revealing Max-Tac officers equipped with advanced cyberware and weapons. They were the specialists in handling cyberpsychos.

The high schooler and the other passengers watched as these specialized officers took control of the situation.

But just as the Max-Tac team was about to completely disable the cyberpsycho's body, the train rounded a corner, moving into another part of the city, and the passengers lost sight of the scene.

Some passengers shook their heads, seemingly dissatisfied at missing the climax of the "execution." Most, however, turned their attention back inside the train, going about their business. After all, chaos like what they had just witnessed happened constantly in Night City.

If there was ever a day without gunfire or explosions in this city, that would be the truly unusual day.

Meanwhile, the high schooler's eyes sparkled with life, his body suddenly seeming more energetic. He seemed to enjoy the "thrill" of such chaotic scenes.

"Sigh."

He sighed again, this time as if feeling sorry for the fate of the cyberpsycho.

Beep!

Suddenly, his pupils lit up with a glow, and a notification tone echoed in his ears.

He opened the incoming message, browsing through the text and images that only he could see:

"Dear Mr. David Martinez:

Thank you for your interest and application. We are pleased to inform you that your interview will be held at Room 1014, 10th floor of our branch building.

Your appointment number is 0017.

We look forward to meeting you.

Best regards and good luck!

—Atlas Human Resources Department.

{Attached Link: Atlas Official Website} 

{Attached Link: Atlas HR Statement}"

After quickly reading through the message, the high schooler, David Martinez, closed the notification, leaned back into his seat, and fell into deep thought.

Atlas.

Until half a month ago, he had never even heard of that name.

But within two weeks, a company claiming to specialize in medical technology and focusing on consumer products had risen to fame at lightning speed.

Not because of the quality of their products, but because of their audacious actions. They had violently seized a large portion of the Tiger Claws gang's territory.

In just a few days, they had taken over half of Japantown by force.

Most notably, the Tiger Claws were as helpless against Atlas as the regular NCPD officers were against cyberpsychos. They simply couldn't stop Atlas' expansion.

The gang members were ruthlessly purged, and the industries they once controlled were thoroughly reorganized by Atlas.

By the time the NCPD officers responsible for Japantown's security arrived, Atlas' "mercenaries" had already finished the fight and disappeared without a trace.

Furthermore, Atlas had used some unknown means to convince the NCPD high command in Japantown to chalk up the expansion as a typical gang conflict, closing the case without much investigation.

This led David to believe that Atlas was just another "dirty" corporate entity.

After all, company-on-company, gang-on-gang firefights were so common in Night City that they barely warranted attention. The NCPD had less authority than the mid-level executives of the megacorporations.

However, the recruitment posts Atlas published on its website shattered David's preconceptions.

For example: "Network Security Consultant: Monthly salary 5,400 eurodollars, Monday to Friday, 9-to-5 work hours with weekends off."

Or, "Armed Security Personnel: Monthly salary 7,200 eurodollars, shift work, full medical benefits after signing a formal contract."

Weekends off?

9-to-5?

These terms seemed almost surreal to David.

But what really caught his attention and prompted him to apply was the "Intern Security" position.

The age requirement was 15-18, and candidates would train at Atlas' branch building in Westbrook for two days a week, earning a weekly wage of 300-500 eurodollars, depending on performance, with a guaranteed minimum of 300.

Atlas also promised to provide free, nutritious meals and functional drinks for its "intern security" recruits.

Although the exact recruitment criteria were unclear, and it wasn't specified what qualities or cyberware the applicants needed, the idea of "two training days per week, with the rest of the week free," and a minimum wage of 300 eurodollars, was too good to pass up.

It was basically "free food, free training, and getting paid."

To his surprise, after submitting his application the day before, including his identity information, resume, and skills, David had passed the preliminary screening.

Since today was Sunday, he had boarded the train to Westbrook.

If he could pass the interview, he could ease the financial burden on his family without interfering with his studies. His mother, who was constantly exhausted, would no longer have to bear all the weight.

Calming his thoughts.

David opened his eyes again, turning his head slightly to gaze back out the window.

This time, he wore a worried expression.

When he thought about it carefully, Atlas, compared to Arasaka or Militech, could almost be considered "benevolent."

The salaries for positions like network security consultants and armed security personnel exceeded market rates by about 10%, and that was just the base salary—before counting overtime, commissions, and various allowances for travel, housing, and medical expenses.

Such basic policies for Atlas might have seemed normal for the company, but in Night City, it made them an "outlier."

What company would go out of its way to care about the lives of ordinary employees?

So, David instinctively suspected that the recruitment information posted by Atlas was false advertising.

Take Arasaka Academy, for example. For an ordinary person to think they could climb the social ladder through education was a death wish.

David was surrounded by rich kids who, no matter how bad their grades were, could enter Arasaka through their family connections, enjoying a life of unimaginable luxury.

David, on the other hand, had barely scraped his way into Arasaka Academy thanks to his mother juggling multiple jobs and a dangerous side hustle.

This had drastically lowered their standard of living.

If not for his mother's feelings, David would have dropped out long ago. He never fit in with his classmates.

As he pondered this;

David noticed the train arriving in Westbrook. He stretched, cracking his neck, and stood to leave his seat, heading toward the train doors to patiently wait.

Soon, the train pulled into the platform.

David, along with several other passengers, disembarked, walking through the station and returning to street level.

Blending into the crowd, David habitually shoved his hands into his pockets as he st

rolled along the garbage-strewn, stain-covered streets.

Along the way, he saw familiar sights: people walking around half-naked, immersed in their virtual worlds, homeless individuals sleeping in alleyways, and the occasional murder scene.

However, after crossing a pedestrian street, David began to notice that the usual chaotic scene had started to improve.

A few homeless people were actively cleaning the garbage from the alleyways, throwing it into designated recycling areas, and heading to a relief station marked with a red-and-white "Λ" symbol, where staff in black uniforms were distributing food.

As for the idle crowd, they were drawn to a holographic screen advertising "temporary work."

The neon-tattooed Tiger Claw gang members had been replaced by fully armed "soldiers."

Even the gunfire was far less frequent than in other areas.

Of course, this was still Night City at its core, but something had changed.

And two blocks ahead was a low-rise building, from which a holographic projection displayed the red-and-white "Λ" symbol, along with the words "Atlas Branch."

It didn't take long.

David soon found himself standing before the main entrance of the building.

Four soldiers, wearing unknown models of armored suits, stood guard on either side of the door, armed with heavy weapons.

He hesitated for a moment but eventually stepped forward, entering the brightly lit, minimalist-styled lobby.

Whether Atlas' promises were real or not, David was determined to give it his best shot at landing this job where he could earn money while still going to school—

If it ended badly, well, he figured he had never truly "lived" anyway.

Upon entering the lobby, a woman in a red uniform approached him with a warm smile.

"Mr. Martinez, welcome. Please sign the registration form."

"Oh, sure."

David hadn't expected such kindness despite his cheap clothes and basic cyberware.

After filling out the necessary information on a holographic form, he followed the receptionist to an elevator.

"Can I... never mind."

Glancing at the numbers rising on the screen, David hesitated, unsure if he should ask.

"No need to worry, Mr. Martinez," the receptionist said kindly. "The fact that you've made it this far means your resume matches our company's requirements. All that's left is for you to answer the interviewer's questions honestly.

And don't forget, Atlas' philosophy is as we say on the website: we are a 'people-centered' company."

Ding!

The elevator doors slid open.

The receptionist gestured for him to step out.

"Please, follow me."

"Okay."

David followed her out of the elevator, down a newly refurbished, soundproofed corridor, and into the waiting hall across from Meeting Room 1014.

There, he saw dozens of other applicants, all around his age, also waiting to interview for the "Intern Security" position.

Some looked like they came from middle-class families, their clothes and cyberware as cheap as David's, while others were clearly muscle-bound brawlers who probably made a living in underground fighting rings.

So many people?

But it made sense. Who wouldn't want an internship like "Intern Security" that could potentially change their "living hell" of a life?

David pushed aside his surprise and picked a seat near the edge to wait.

Meanwhile, in the Halo universe;

Whoosh—whoosh—!

Five vortexes, glowing with a dim purple light, illuminated the dark space, as the Xiandel Fleet, sworn to serve Samuel Young, successfully emerged from slipspace, returning to realspace.

Ahead of this elite fleet was the Covenant capital—

High Charity.

Tens of thousands of CCS-class battle cruisers, CRS-class light cruisers, and other massive super ships far exceeding the size of CCS-class vessels were all escorting High Charity, a celestial-scale construct akin to a Reaper mothership.

As the slipspace vortexes closed, Xiandel's fleet accelerated toward the Covenant capital.

_________________________

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